


Nothing wrong with having a good time.

by MountainDont



Category: Fallout (Video Games), Fallout 4
Genre: AU, But that's me though lol I don't plan like ever, Depression, F/M, Friends to Lovers, No Plot/Plotless, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Recreational Drug Use, Title tags and description subject to change whenever I figure out wtf I'm writing about, Violence
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-12-25
Updated: 2016-12-30
Packaged: 2018-09-12 00:25:30
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 12,013
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9047549
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MountainDont/pseuds/MountainDont
Summary: John promised Nate he would look after Nora, and he meant it - even if it means taking on the whole of the Commonwealth to keep her safe.





	1. The Mayor of Boston

**Author's Note:**

> AU because John was alive before the fallout, and became a ghoul because of the radiation. Lots of things are different because of that. So basically, expect everything to be changed. Also, since I don't have a plot, I'm making this up as I go. At first, at least. I'll probably find a plot later on.

He smiled at her from across the table, and immediately she could tell that he was nothing but trouble. Not the kind that came wrapped in despair, but the kind that had a nice big bow right on top, with a note that said _OPEN ME_. She smiled back, professional as always, and sat down in her seat. “You seem to be doing well.”

“All things considered, I’d have to say – it could be a _lot_ worse.” He leaned back casually in his seat, shrugging his shoulders. “They give us politicians a cushiony life here. Better food, better beds, better roommates. Can’t say I care much for the inequality, so I tried stirring up a little trouble. Just to see if they’d start treating me different.”

“So far?” Nora asked.

“Nah. No luck.” The corners of his eyes wrinkled with charm. He wasn’t old. In his fifties, according to his birth date, but he looked younger. Early forties, if even that. “Used to watch your cases on the TV. Not a bad lawyer.”

“I assume that’s why you contacted me, Mayor McDonough.”

“Call me John.” He reached forward for the pack of cigarettes that had been left on the table for him. “ _Mayor_ is for people who wanna kiss my ass. Smoke?” Nora shook her head politely. He shrugged, lit it up, and took in a deep drag. “Doesn’t this shit cause cancer?” he asked.

“Then why are you smoking it?”

“Only saying,” John said. “Causes cancer, but they let you smoke it. Know what eating a little weed in your brownies here and there does to you?” Nora quirked a brow. “Jack shit, that’s what. But it’s not allowed in prison. Not even allowed out of it. Never really understood that. You?”

“You don’t want to go into the court room saying that, John,” Nora said. “They’re looking for some sort of remorse.”

“Didn’t answer my question, Nora.”

“I’m your attorney, not your friend.” She waved the air in front of her as smoke billowed out his mouth. It ghosted against his high cheekbones, wafted in front of his narrowed, mischievous blue eyes. The corners of his lips turned up into an almost hidden smile. He seemed to think something about her was funny. “And it’s not just the possession of marijuana that’s concerning the state. It’s the heroin. The cocaine. The meth. The LSD.”

“Good old angel dust. Never touched the shit, myself, but hey, some people want it, and who am I to tell them that they can’t have it?”

“The Mayor of Boston,” Nora said. “Which resides in a state that has outlawed the recreational use of all narcotics. Including _angel dust_.”

John examined his cigarette, holding it between his fingers like it was a rose, and hummed thoughtfully to himself, his lips pressed into a thin line. “Could’ve sworn,” he said, “that the Constitution was built to protect us little guys from the big assholes upstairs. Hell, if I don’t agree with the state, I got every reason to make different laws for my city. But I get it. Supremacy Clause and all that. So, what’s my defense?”

Nora couldn’t help but find herself totally entertained by the man before her. She’d heard of Mayor McDonough’s antics, and had even butted heads with him a few times before. Not directly, but she’d gone on the record stating that his unorthodox political methods went against the American Way, and he’d stated that she was wrong, but offered nothing to back his claims up. Now, meeting him in person, he was a lot more amicable than she’d imagined. Irritating, sure, like he thought making a little trouble from time to time was his business – and like he was damn good at it. But there was something so simple and _happy_ about the way that he carried himself. Honest, and like he had no problem with it.

Meanwhile, Michael McDonough, the governor of Massachusetts and John’s estranged brother, was shitting green bricks sideways trying to figure out how to clean up his own image each and every time John soiled their family name. Nora figured that their parents must be rolling over in their graves at the rising tension between the two. Their feud had become public not too long ago. Michael didn’t like the way John so carelessly led his own life, and John didn’t approve of the blatant favoritism his brother showed to already established American citizens. When John had started yelling loudly enough about the bigotry, Michael had taken to speaking to the people of Boston to reassure them that there was no such thing as racism existing in the state of Massachusetts.

 _This is a time of war,_ he’d said, staring directly into the camera with somber eyes. _And war means that we must look after our own. Those who are here illegally have no right to be here. They could very well be terrorists, and while some individuals may be satisfied with taking that risk, I say that there is no such thing as an appropriate time for playing Russian Roulette with American lives._

War always brought fear and xenophobia, and though Nora always believed that America should be a safe haven for those who wanted to escape danger, not even she could be so blind as to believe that John was on the winning end of the argument he currently had with his brother. Even so, the people of Boston loved John, and continued to elect him. Violent crime was at an all-time low, and he’d implemented various programs to keep the people entertained and happy. Arts, primarily, mainly because he had a fondness for jazz. In fact, if Nora had done her research correctly, she recalled reading a story about how John personally owned and funded a radio station that featured aspiring musicians, giving them air time and publicity. More than a few dreams have been reached from his efforts.

Regardless, here he sat, with the rest of the world against him. His antics have even reached the deep south, where people were still far more conservative and loathed what he did in his free time. Whether or not Nora agreed with it, it was her job to fix the situation as much as she could. Her own personal preferences regarding the matter had to be thrown out the window, even though she, too, had benefited from some of John’s efforts. If it weren’t for him, she wouldn’t even be a lawyer. He was progressive in that way.

“Because I was thinking,” John continued, throat responding to the cigarette smoke by tightening up. He blew it out, coughed once, and continued: “I was thinking that maybe I could just say it wasn’t mine.”

“So what, you were holding it for a friend?”

“Wanna take the fall?” asked John, a telltale twinkle in his eye. Nora fought hard not to break into a grin. She cleared her throat and looked down at her paperwork.

“We both know that defense isn’t going to work,” she said. He didn’t even seem disappointed. Of course he knew it wasn’t going to work. Nora figured he was just trying to make the best out of a bad situation. “The prosecution is willing to offer you a plea deal, but only because your approval ratings are high, and you can’t be a mayor from in prison.” John raised a brow, but seemed intent on staring down at the table. Though Nora was typically good at reading people, she couldn’t put her finger on what he was thinking. Part of her felt, however, that he figured being in prison wasn’t such a bad deal compared to the world of politics. Frankly, she didn’t blame him, but he was good for the job. And making sacrifices for the greater good was what made him an exceptional mayor. “We could take them up on that offer.”

“And the alternative?” John asked. “I rot in prison for what, the next fifty years, if I’m lucky?” He scoffed. “Plea bargains are a fuckin’ joke. If I could outlaw ‘em, I would. It’s only the prosecution’s way of getting innocent men to take the fall for something that they didn’t do.”

“And you think you’re innocent.”

“Of crime, yeah.” He glanced up at her. His eyes contained no humor now. Completely somber, he snuffed his cigarette out in the ashtray. “But I know my ideals won’t stand up in the court of law. My hands are tied with this one. Just doesn’t seem right that I’ll be let go just because of who I am, but some of these other kids are stuck in here for twelve, fifteen years for smaller crimes.” Nora nodded at him. She understood what he meant. The justice system was rarely fair, and it bothered her, too. If she could do more pro bono work, she would, but her superiors wouldn’t let her do it. They’d rather pay than let her take the cases. She’d considered starting up her own firm, but she didn’t have the money. Not with Nate being in the military, not with Shaun at home. Codsworth had cost them five months’ pay, and their savings account, which had been set up for Shaun to go to college, was looking depressingly empty.

Looking at her situation now, however, right in this present moment, Nora felt incredibly selfish. Here this man was, facing a difficult predicament not because of anything he’d done wrong, but because of what he did in his free time. And what he did in his free time had been against the law. Regardless, Nora had to respect the law. Had to abide by it.

John cleared his throat. “Heard they got that new vault set up,” he said. “Real close to your neighborhood. Nice little place for your cul-de-sac suburbia to stay nice and warm in the event of a nuclear winter.” Nora’s lips twitched into a reluctant smile. “You invited?”

“Yes,” she said. “Nate filled out the paperwork this morning.”

“Wanna know something?” John reached out for the pack of cigarettes. He tapped it against the table, eyes glued to the red and gold packaging, lower lip tugged between his teeth as he fought with indecision. Finally, he pulled out a second cigarette, but didn’t light it right away. “So was I.” He chuckled, a sad sound, and put the cigarette between his lips. As he lit it up, he spoke around it with tight lips. “Vault Tec rep came in here, looking like a kid lost in the streets. Sat in visitation with me, made this big old speech about my service – I shit you not – to the country. For what? For being a Boston politician?” He rubbed at his eye with the heel of his hand. Nora saw for the first time just how tired he really was. “Meanwhile the people contributing to the economy, paying their taxes so that I have a job, are being told that there’s no room for them.” Nora began to put the pieces together. Before John could finish, she’d already figured out what his meeting with the Vault Tec representative had ended with. “Told him no,” John said. “Told him if this city went down in flames, I’d burn with it. And from it’s ashes I’d rise like fucking spawn, ‘cause heaven doesn’t want me and hell’s scared shitless of me.” He chuckled again. “He left real fast after that. Felt a little bad for him, but you gotta stick to your guns, you know?

“Point I’m trying to make, Nora, is that it ain’t right. I know what the prosecution’s doing, and I appreciate it. But I’m not taking a plea bargain.” Nora opened her mouth to argue, to say that it really was in his best interest if he just cooperated. He pointed the burning end of his cigarette at her. “Our argument is that there’s nothing wrong with having a good time as long as you don’t hurt anyone else.” She closed her mouth. Something in his tone said that he wasn’t going to take no for an answer, and if she said it anyway, he’d find a new lawyer.

Not that it was a concern of Nora’s. Many people had told her before that she wasn’t fit to represent them, and she respected that. But the fact remained that John had a point. He had his moral standing on the situation, and while Nora didn’t partake in his personal hobbies, her stance wasn’t much different from his. She sighed and leaned back in her seat, defeated. “Well,” she said, shrugging at him. He waited. “I remember when you and your lobbyist friends marched up to the capitol and gave your brother what for when that anti-abortion law sat on his desk. It would have ruined a lot of women’s lives if he’d signed it. But you gave him hell, and he threw it out the window.” John seemed to relax when she said that. “If I believe in my own body autonomy, then I should represent yours, too.” He nodded once at her. Respect. Appreciation. “It won’t be easy, though, and I’m positive that it won’t work. But if that’s what you want to do, then I’ll stand by that.”

“You sure? You could be throwing your career out the window.”

“We’re at war, John. I signed my security away with the vault.” Nora gathered up her papers and stood. “As far as I’m concerned, this is the best time to throw caution to the wind and do what I feel is right for once. I’ll keep in touch.”


	2. Babylon the Great

“Fuck.” Sharp pains shot up from his leg straight through his spine, sending his entire body on fire with agony. He gritted his teeth as he opened his eyes, tried to still his pounding heart so that he could think for just two seconds. The last thing he remembered, he was finishing up with Nora, heading back toward his cell. Joking around with one of the officers – and then the alarms sounded, right? Yeah, that must have been it. He remembered the flashing red. Remembered thinking to himself for a very brief moment, _Oh shit, should’ve taken Vault Tec up on their offer,_ before he was shoved to the ground and forced to crawl under a goddamn metal bed for his own protection.

Then it all just went black.

How long was he out? He’d heard that if someone went unconscious for too long, they ran the risk of brain damage, and given that his brain was working just fine, he figured he must’ve been out only for a few seconds. The problem was, was that he couldn’t see to make sure. While the bed withstood the damage – good old American steel – it had been covered in debris that he just wasn’t strong enough to lift on his own. Besides, his leg was fucking _killing_ him.

John wriggled around where he lie, rolled over onto his back to get as much of a view as he could. He spotted a small clearing in the rubble, big enough for him to see through. So he grabbed both legs of the bed, pulled himself forward, and examined as much of the aftermath as he could from his narrow scope of vision.

He didn’t know what he expected. Sunshine and daisies? Certainly not this, at the very least. Everything was _red_. Some things were on fire, sure, but that wasn’t what John meant. He meant everything from the sky to the air to the dirt _was mother fucking explosion red_ and he found himself both thrilled and angered at the idea of a nuclear apocalypse. Instead of acting on either, he scoffed. “Well, I’ll be damned,” he said.

The walls around the jail had crumpled. Several dead bodies lie around the ruined walkways. When John was beginning to think that he was the only one left, he heard footsteps. Almost immediately, the mayor pushed his hand through the same hole he’d been looking through, and he wriggled his fingers. “Hey. If you got a heart, you’ll help me out before this place makes me its prison bitch.” The footsteps stopped. So they heard him. Saw him. They approached. He withdrew his arm, heaving a sigh of relief as the person began to shift the debris around. What kind of hulking monsters could lift concrete, John didn’t know – but perhaps that was because he was always a bit of a weak man.

When enough of the debris had been cleared, two strong hands wrapped around John’s arms, and pulled him swiftly out from underneath the bed. John sat, groaned in pain at his leg. “Fuck,” he said. “Either broken or a sprain. Can’t tell. Never had either.”

“Mayor McDonough?”

John turned to look at whoever had assisted him. Spotted a muscular man, probably in his late forties, with dark hair and even darker eyes. A bit of a stubble, some clear desperation working at his features. He’d been crying, it looked like. John remembered this guy. A military war veteran, had a meeting with John once about how they could improve veteran lives here in Boston. Nate Washington, actually, if John’s memory served him correctly. Nora’s husband. “Shit, thought you were at the vault.”

“Where’s Nora? She came to see you, right?” John nodded. “So where is she?”

“Headed home about twenty minutes before the bombing.” Nate ran a calloused hand over his face. “Where the hell were you? Why weren’t you in the vault?”

“Um.” Nate tried to compose himself, though his eyes spilled over with worry. John swore at that moment that he’d fix whatever problems Nate had. That’s just what men like John did. Nate shrugged. “I was out at the time,” he said. “Around town, talking with a few new recruits who were scheduled for deployment. When we heard the news about the bombs, we helped with the evacuation. Got the women and children out toward the vault, and when the doors closed, we hauled ass to the most secure building we could find.” He gestured around him. “The jail.” So he’d been here the whole time. “Got knocked out from the blast. Woke up and decided to search for any survivors.”

“Your wife’s in the vault by your place,” John reassured him, though he wasn’t so sure himself. “She had enough time to get home, grab your kid, and head out there, all right?” Nate nodded, but it didn’t seem to put him at any ease. “All right, here’s what we’re gonna do. You need to check around, see if you can find a functioning car, bike, anything. I can’t walk with my damn leg like this.” Nate took in a shuddering breath, shoulders tensed for a moment before he closed his eyes and relaxed. It must have been a nice relief for him, not to be the one making plans at a time like this. John was willing to take that burden for himself. He didn’t have a wife or kid of his own. All he had left was a shitty asshole of a brother, and part of John was hoping that the fucker was dead. “If you find anything, you come back and get me, and we’ll head back to your place.”

Nodding once, Nate stood and made his way out of the prison. John sat and waited patiently for what felt like a century, but must have only been a few minutes. Eventually Nate returned, helped John stand, and supported his weight. He guided John out of the destroyed jail, and the mayor tried not to look down at any of the dead bodies as he limped alongside the veteran. Nate led him down the road to a parked, blackened school bus, helped him up the steps, and seated him down at the front. “Sit here,” he said. “And wait for a bit.” John didn’t argue. He watched as Nate left, and returned again later with more people. They all piled into the bus, each with their own injuries, and John found himself at ease. With courage like Nate’s, it was easy to see precisely why Nora had married the man. The veteran sat down in the driver’s seat, started the engine, and they were off.

They rode in silence, John vaguely aware of the stares he was receiving. He turned, looked at the citizens of apocalyptic Boston, and tried to offer a cheerful smile. One woman, a nurse that he remembered from one of his charity visits to the local hospital, smiled back. “Doing all right?” John asked.

“I’m alive,” replied the nurse. “I guess that’s what matters.”

“Atta girl,” John said.

Along the way to Sanctuary Hills, Nate stopped driving to collect more people, some injured to the point where they would certainly die at any given moment, but John got it. No one deserved to die alone. Not like this. And with a new purpose in his eyes, Nate’s jaw set strongly with each person he helped. The nurse helped the injured, held hands as people passed away, but John didn’t inform her about his bad leg. He’d wait for that. She had more important things to do, and it wasn’t like he was going to die from this shit.

Nate helped them all out of the bus once they reached Sanctuary Hills. He helped John limp over to the Washington house, with its windows blown out and its roof caved in. John could feel the life leaving Nate’s body with each step they took. “She’s in the vault,” John said. “She’s a smart woman. She would have taken her kid and gone to the vault, even if you weren’t there. You gotta remember that.” Nate nodded. Together, they stood outside of the house, both silently mourning for something they still weren’t sure was reality or fiction.

A loud whir grew loud behind them. They turned, spotted an approaching Mister Handy. “Sir!”

“Codsworth,” Nate said.

“Oh, _Sir_ , it’s so great to see you alive and well, all things considered. I was just beginning to accept that I would never see you or Mum again. Devastating, just _devastating_ what’s happened.”

“Where’s my wife?” asked Nate.

“She took young Shaun and left for the vault,” Codsworth replied dutifully. Nate sighed in relief, and John felt his own world get a little brighter. “Are you all right, Sir?”

“Fine,” Nate replied. “Do me a favor, find us a spot for triage. We’ve got a few people that are pretty badly hurt.”

Codsworth managed to do more than that. Houses in Sanctuary Hills were still in working order, and while they lacked electricity, at the very least they had beds. Sure, the place reeked of nuclear fallout, but it was better than the alternative. Nate and the nurse, who John remembered was named Mary, worked diligently at tending to any injuries. John’s leg had, indeed, been broken, but on top of that, he’d also suffered a series of severe lacerations. Codsworth produced some rubbing alcohol to help in the ridding of infection, and Mary patched and sewed him up before wrapping his leg tightly in a makeshift splint.

By the time night rolled around, the people who were going to die anyway did, and the rest just resigned to wait until morning. Nate and John sat next to each other on a couch, staring at a broken television and listened to the battery-operated radio play nothing but static. They sat in silence for a while, before John decided he couldn’t take it anymore and had to talk. “Thanks,” he said. Nate looked sidelong at him.

“It’s what we do,” he said. And John shrugged.

“It’s what you do,” he corrected.

“You would have done the same thing if it were me in your position.” John couldn’t argue with that, so he didn’t. Not for the sake of trying to make Nate feel better. “Nora always liked you, you know.”

John chuckled. “She sure gave me a run for my money. Couldn’t keep her out of my business most times. Always telling me that I was wrong about something or the other.”

“Not always,” Nate said. “Not when you pushed the governor to sign the women’s rights reformation bill.” John went silent, stared deeper into the cracked television screen. “Before then, schools used war as a reason for turning women away. Why educate them when they could be doing something to benefit the men overseas, right? Nora almost gave up on her dreams to become a lawyer. When that bill became law, she registered for classes immediately. Got a degree that would have taken her eight years done in four.”

“Became one of the best lawyers Massachusetts had to offer,” John said.

“Then that anti-abortion law you made your brother veto. Nora would have never gotten an abortion, herself, but she always advocates for personal freedom.” Yeah. John saw that. Even if it went against her own lifestyle, she believed people ought to live freely. For a long while, he figured that he was the only one. Turns out that he’d been wrong. “You also lobbied for increased wages for teachers, personally funded art programs, raised the minimum wage – you did a lot of stuff Nora liked.”

John thought about this for a moment. Leaned back in his seat and propped his leg up on a barely standing coffee table. He winced as the movement jarred his broken bone. “I’m proud to have been able to do something for people like you,” he said. “A veteran and a lawyer, raising a kid. That’s an American family, right there.” He reached into his orange jumpsuit pocket and pulled out a pack of cigarettes and a lighter, holding them up. Nate accepted one, lit it up, then allowed for John to do the same. The veteran stood, made his way over to the radio as if to turn it off, before a signal came through.

Nate stilled, and John turned his head to face the radio. The message played on a loop, cheerful, mocking tones bursting through the speakers like a nightmare. After the speech, laughter tinkled like piano keys, then reached unheavenly high pitches that made John’s ear hurt. A demon’s choir of cheers joined in, and John came to realize that some things didn’t change: It didn’t take long for certain people to congregate so that they could celebrate disaster.

_“And on her forehead, a name was written, a mystery, ‘Babylon the Great, the mother of harlots and of the abominations of the earth.’”_


	3. Homo sapiens monstrum

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know that this chapter isn't very high quality, but I really struggled being able to write something up. The holidays were not a good time for me. I didn't even proofread this, so I apologize if it sucks really bad. I just really wanted to get it done.
> 
> I mentioned before that a lot has changed because this is AU, and by a lot changing I mean almost everything has changed. And it's probably going to suck because of that. OOPSIES~
> 
> Also, we have one more chapter after this of Nate and Hancock before I reintroduce Nora.
> 
> ::NOTE:: Please note that I went ahead and proofread/edited this on 12/30/16 and 1/1/17. What you see is now the complete version of this chapter. Again, I sincerely apologize for giving you guys something half-assed.

John closed the window, unable to take any more of the noise from the streets below. People talking, children screaming with laughter, robots beep-beep-booping - he could only take so much. His nerves were already at an all-time high, clawing at his back like a newborn Mirelurk, and while he normally inhaled some of that new drug, Jet, to keep his mind calm, he wasn’t in any mood to deal with the reprimands of his doctor. She'd gotten onto him one too many times about his addictions, though this time, she came for another reason entirely. He turned to face the woman, watched as she lifted one gloved hand from the microscope to the folder she’d brought with her. Labeled on the side, John could clearly read the label, written in fine print: _McDonough, John._ He closed his eyes once, checked again to see if he could still read it. He could. Clear across the room. Some sort of side effect of what he was going through, according to the good doctor. Heightened perception. He still had yet to determine if it was a gift, or a damn bitch of a thing to live with.

“If it ain’t contagious, why the gloves?” He leaned back against the wall, as casually as he could. Tried to still the thump, thump, thumping in his chest as he anticipated the worst. She looked up at him, smiled benignly.

“Precautions,” she said. “There’s no telling what else you might have.” She meant it was a lighthearted jest, and he accepted it as such. But he still had the nagging feeling that she didn't want to catch whatever he had. Not that he blamed her. The beginning stages, which started what, a couple weeks ago? Those were rough. Real painful-like. Skin getting hard, flaking off, _sliding_ off. Scarring over until he felt rough, like leather. None of it had been pretty and it had all been mind-numbingly excruciating. She continued: “There’s good news, and there’s bad news. Which do you want to hear first?”

“Doesn’t matter,” John replied. “Just lay it on me.” He lit up a cigarette, and she frowned in disapproval. “Hey, skin’s already falling off. Not like lung cancer’s really gonna do me in any sooner than this will.” He didn't give a damn what she had to say about this; it was his life, and at this point, he was going to take what he could get. Especially if his condition got any worse.

“I’m more worried about the secondhand smoke,” said the doctor. She discarded her gloves and sat down on one of the ruined sofas. “Well, McDonough, I finally got word from the Capital Wasteland. They’ve finished up some testing on the people there who are going through similar problems, but we’re reaching different conclusions.” He quirked a hairless eyebrow, blew smoke out from the corner of his mouth. “Top scientists there have classified this condition as ghoulification, and it results in significant genetic mutation. Under normal circumstances, this would result in a new species altogether, and currently, scientists are trying to determine what the name should be called. So far, the consensus is Homo sapiens monstrum.” She sighed, set the folder down on the coffee table, and looked up at him with tired eyes. He didn’t like the name at all, but what the hell could he do about it? Go to the Capital Wasteland and kick their asses for labeling him a human monster? Right. Like that’d work. It’d just solidify their beliefs. “The general populace, however, remains pretty adamant that you’re a Ghoul now, not human.”

“Cute,” John grunted. Other than the weird full-body heat he felt around radiation, the stronger senses, and the tissue decay, he felt pretty damn human still. Innately, at least. The physical changes made him afraid of himself, too, but shit, he wasn't there to do harm to anybody. Not the people who didn't deserve it, at least. Didn't seem fair that some assholes in the world were scared of him just because of the way he looked, without even getting to know what kind of a guy he was at first.

“Most people are terrified of Ghouls, McDonough. Not just because you look different.” He figured that was the exact reason. “But because not every Ghoul is like you. Sure, some are, but then there are others that have lost all ability for thought. They rely on instinct, and their instinct demands that they kill. While the scientific community as a whole seems content on keeping the two types of Ghouls under the same name, you’re otherwise distinguished by labeling them as feral.”

“Crock of shit,” John said. No one deserved to be labeled feral, and he highly doubted that these folks really deserved it. Call him naive, optimistic, what have you - but the moment you start labeling a living person like they're a fucking _animal_? That's where he drew the line.

“But here’s the good news.” There was good news in all that? Jesus, he thought she’d just been saying that to make him feel better. “Through studying Ghoul genetics, we were able to figure out that you age slower than humans. How much slower, we can’t tell. It’s possible that you’re unable to die from age at all.” Well, he could live with that. Pun intended. “You also can’t get sick. The radiation kills it right off.” Another bonus. “You can’t carry diseases, either. You don’t need to eat, sleep, or consume fluids. In fact, simply being near radiation is all you need to survive. The higher the radiation, the better. The only downside to your biology that I can see is that you’re sterile.”

John snorted. “Wasn’t planning on having kids anyway,” he said. “Nice of you to say that, though. See, downside to me is the way I look. Only chance at getting laid now is finding someone who has a fetish for men that look like an extra from _Droves of the Dead_.”

“Word is, is that there’s quite a few people out there who fit that description,” said the doctor. He shrugged, considered this for a moment. At the very least, John could use his charisma to his advantage, maybe find himself someone to sleep with every so often. He didn't need it that much, not like some other men, but it was still nice to have. It was nice to hear that he might not have to give that up, just because of the _ghoulification_. The doctor stood. “I also wanted to talk about something different that I’ve noticed,” she said. “Between the Ghouls here and the ones in the Capital Wasteland.” She waved him over to the desk that she’d been working at previously, and he approached. She showed him two photos.

The one on the left showed John’s face. It looked scarred over, ugly as all hell, but at least it was the same, uniform color throughout. On the right was another Ghoul, one that looked significantly different from him. Rotting flesh, looked squishy as all hell, with bulging eyes and rotting teeth. His heart sank. Poor bastard. “It appears that different types of radiation affect different types of people,” she said. “Some Ghouls are constantly decomposing. Ghouls here in the Commonwealth, however, lose their flesh, and then their bodies create a newer, tougher layer to protect the sensitive nerves underneath. So far, we haven’t been able to determine what causes these changes. There are simply too many variables to take into consideration, like individual genetics, distance from radiation, consistency of radiation consumed, levels of radiation – the possibilities are endless.”

He tapped a finger on the desk. Ash dropped from his cigarette to the floor. “We also haven’t been able to figure out what causes some Ghouls to go feral,” she said, a little quietly. Like she was ashamed to admit it at all. “Some believe it’s inevitable. Others believe that it just happens depending on the person.”

“So you’re saying I can go crazy at any time,” John said, purposefully using a different set of vernacular than she did. The doctor didn't answer him, kept her gaze down and away from his own like she was ashamed of what she was saying. “If I do, fuckin’ shoot me. Not down with that shit.” For more than one reason. He wanted the ability to distinguish between who was bad and who was good - and he didn't want the world frowning down at him like he was some beast if he lost that ability.

“There’s one more thing, John.” He snuffed his cigarette out in the ash tray. 

“Lay it on me.”

“You’ll need higher doses of any drug to feel an effect, whether it be chems, alcohol, or even nicotine.” Explains why he’d been smoking much more often. He'd gone through, what, two packs in a day? The Commonwealth didn't have enough cigarettes to keep him going at that rate. “I don’t advocate the usage of chems, of course, as you already know, but if you’re going to do it regardless … Just be careful. We haven’t had the chance to study the effects of overdose on Ghouls.” Worst case scenario, it would either kill him or turn him feral. Either way, he wouldn’t have enough of a mind to know the difference, so what did it matter at that point? He had one life, and with all this shit going down, he sure as hell wasn’t going to slow down any time real soon.

The way John saw it, he had limited things available for him anymore. Chances at romance were limited, because hell, look at him. People everywhere were terrified of people like him. He’d already stopped stepping outside because he didn’t want the people of Boston looking at him, so his ability to be a decent mayor was already out the window. If all he had left now was himself, then he was going to make the most of it.

He saw the doctor out, and not two seconds later, good ol' Nate, the only thing in the Commonwealth that still made any sense to John, walked in. The only person other than the doctor to have seen John in his current state, Nate didn’t so much as look at him twice when he walked inside the room. Leave it to Nate to not give two shits about appearances. That was one of the reasons John liked him. The way he kicked ass and never took names had something to do with it, too. They were a damn good team, and John was proud of what they'd made for themselves, and others, out here. “Got back from speaking with the Institute,” Nate said. He sat down, relaxing after his long journey. “Hate that place.”

“Join the club, brother.” John took a seat opposite of him and lit up another cigarette. He propped his feet up on the coffee table. “Got any news?”

“Yeah,” Nate said. “They’re working on a new prototype. Better than the second generation stuff. Supposed to act and look a bit more human. One's got memories from before the war. A detective, apparently.” That didn’t really sit well with John, making humans out of machines, but he’d have to let it play out. See where it went. Sometimes, stepping out of his comfort zone did him some good. “They also sent out a few scouts to check out the vault, like we asked. See what was going on.”

“And?”

“Well, when they got there, the place was abandoned. Bloodied up. According to some of the terminal logs, there had been a sort of mutiny. But they found my family.” At least the Institute was good for something. “Frozen.” Well, shit. “Our entire neighborhood had been cryogenically preserved. No clue why. Some sort of experiment, apparently.”

“They let them out?” John asked.

“No. After weighing the pros and cons, they figured it was just too risky. And I agree.” John watched Nate carefully, tried to get a read on him. He wasn’t lying, at least, and far be it for John to decide what was and wasn't right for one man. But if it were him, he'd want the people he loved out here, where he could be around them. He was selfish like that. “I wouldn’t want Nora to see the world like this. Wouldn’t want Shaun to be raised here. I’d rather they come out when things are rebuilt.”

John flicked ash onto the floor. “Well, with my luck, I'll be alive long enough to see to it that they're taken care of. Nothing to worry about on that end, brother. Now we know where they are, just in case,” he said. “And we know that they’re alive. That’s what’s important.” Nate nodded, but didn’t respond. “Get any news about Babylon?”

Nate shook his head. “Not so far, no,” he said. “It’s still the same thing. Radio broadcasts every few years to scare people, but they haven’t done anything that we know of. Probably just a group of raiders.”

“Haven’t done anything _yet_ ,” John corrected. “They’re probably biding their time. Wouldn’t put it past those psychos. Either way, terrorizing people ain’t something we can stand for anymore. The world’s already gone to shit. We don’t need anybody preying on the people.” Nate agreed, but there was a problem: No one know who exactly Babylon was, or where they were located. The Institute had tried working on it, but their resources were limited with the Brotherhood of Steel up their ass all the time. And while John McDonough remained the mayor of the largest settlement in the Commonwealth, not even he could figure out how to track those lunatics down.

Maybe Nate was right. Maybe they really were just glorified raiders, but something about that didn’t sit right with John. Raiders didn’t have a message. They didn’t have a purpose. Babylon did. He wasn’t entirely sure what exactly that message was, but he could tell that they were highly organized just by the broadcasts. Each one linked to the other, most of them containing biblical references and others just babbling on and on about magic.

He didn’t get it. But he also knew that if he sat around waiting to understand, then something bad would happen. The rub? He had no choice _but_ to sit around and wait for them to come out, first.

He’d hoped that building up an alliance with the Institute, as uneasy as that alliance was, would have made things a bit easier on him, but as the years passed, John became more and more aware that the Institute’s methods were questionable, at best. He managed to keep them away from his people, and that’s what mattered the most, but something about them still didn’t sit well with him.

Nate ran a weathered hand through gray hair, and John wondered how much longer he would be alive. How long had it been now since they met at that jail? Thirty years? Life expectancy now was about fifty, given the food scarcity and high levels of radiation, but somehow here Nate was, seventy-four years old and still kicking. John realized how much he lucked out, Nate being the first person after the bombs that he got tangled with. It hit him, just then, like a fucking magnet to despair, that Nate never showed any of the same responses to the radiation that John had. He tried not to show it on his face, but he didn't know what kind of world of misery he was in for if Nate up and died before John did. And he knew it was inevitable, regardless. It stuck to him like Wonderglue.

But enough of that shit. He couldn't wallow in misery for the rest of his life, right? He had to take up arms, do something, because if Nate was gonna head to that big castle in the sky before John did, then he needed to do it in style. In the way that only the Duo of Disaster knew how: By rewriting the rules. “I need a distraction,” John said. “You up for a little bit of tom-foolery?” Nate chuckled. “I mean, I know you’re getting old, brother, but how much longer do we have together?”

That seemed to convince him, at least. “What were you thinking?” Nate asked. 

“Couple of raiders made their way up into the Old State House. That place is an American treasure and if you’re half the patriot you say you are, you wouldn’t let them desecrate that shit.”

“You haven’t been outside in weeks.”

“Yeah, well, gotta let the good people of Boston know about me sooner or later,” John said with a shrug. Either they would accept him or they wouldn’t. One way or another, the people would speak, and he would have to listen to them. That’s what America was about, right? Besides, maybe he was a little selfish, but he didn't want these last few years with his best mate spent cooped up in one of those tired, old settlements. They needed to make something of the extra space in Boston, for John's sake, and for Nate's. “Getting stir crazy, anyway. It’s about time we expanded our settlement’s borders. Let’s claim the Old State House. Show the scum of the Commonwealth who not to fuck with.”


	4. Brothers

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Short chapter here. Oh well~. Next chapter is going to be much longer than average to compensate for this. Plus, I have a lot of stuff to cover.
> 
> ::Edited on 1/1/17::

Funny. Just ten years ago, he was doing fine. Traversing through the Commonwealth like he was twenty years old again. Gun at his side, making friends, kicking the asses of people who deserved it – yeah. It had been worth it, hadn’t it? Staying out of the vault, knowing that he was doing his part in making sure that the outside was a safer place for his wife and kid. That’s what mattered most, right? He smiled to himself, stared up at the filthy ceiling of the Old State House. It wasn't theirs yet, not with all the battles happening around it, but John had a feeling that the end would come soon. Nate wished he could see it, but he knew it was impossible. It killed him, quite literally, and he knew that it was tearing John apart too. He closed his eyes, prayed that John would keep fighting. Fortify this place for the whole of the Commonwealth, be a voice for the downtrodden and the oppressed. That's what they'd been fighting for, and he wanted it to continue.

He heard the hushed murmurs from behind closed doors, and though he couldn’t hear what they were talking about, he knew what the discussion entailed regardless. Knew that the doctor was telling John all about it. The radiation poisoning had gotten the better of him, just as it did to most others. Unfortunately, Rad-Away hadn’t been invented soon enough for him to make it through this. But that’s all right. Everyone had to die sometime. He hoped John would understand, wouldn't beat himself up too much about it. He had too much work to do to cry over someone like Nate, but hell. How long had the man been calling him "brother"? Since before they'd started planning the Second American Revolution, as John liked to call it. And Nate always returned the sentiment. The bond they shared was deeper than friendship. It was profound brotherhood. The blood of the covenant is thicker than the water of the womb, and being a soldier, he knew that better than anyone.

John would have made an exceptional soldier himself. God bless the men who fought on the inside while people like Nate risked their lives overseas.

Nate never imagined that it could be a real feeling, burning and freezing at the same time. He’d alternated between the two during horrible fevers, but this was the worst. He imagined this must be what it felt like to be set on fire, with every nerve screaming every few minutes, to the point where you wanted to scream, too. His stomach clenched, and bile rose up to his throat, but he wouldn’t give this devil the satisfaction of seeing him suffer. He was stronger than that. He had survived war, and he had survived the aftermath. He would survive the pain, too, and die on his own terms. That’s what Washingtons did.

The door to the living room opened. Nate opened his eyes, and John walked in, his skin scarred over and that ridiculous tricorn hat sitting low on his head to mask his face in shadows. He did that, when he got emotional. Didn’t want anyone to see anything but the good side of him. If he wasn’t angry or happy, then he was ashamed. That was just the kind of man John was. Always had been, even before he changed his last name. Dissociated from the person he used to be.

 _It’s a new day in the Commonwealth, brother,_ he’d told Nate ten years ago, after they’d taken the Old State House from the raiders. He’d wrapped that stupid jacket around his body and tied an American flag across his waist and held his arms out like he was the epitome of saving grace. And in a way, he was. _When new times dawn, new heroes gotta come forth. John Hancock. Better start working on a killer signature._

John strolled up to the couch that Nate lie on, moved a pile of chems out of the way, and sat down on the coffee table. “How you holdin’ up, brother?” he asked.

“Not going to lie, John. It hurts like hell.”

Gunshots from outside. A battle nearby, more raiders trying to take the Old State House. John should have been out there, commanding them in Nate's place, but here he sat, his priorities already determined. That's what brotherhood was. Being there, because at that point in time, the two who shared a life were the only things that mattered when one of those lives was about to be snuffed out.

“Yeah. You look like shit.” Nate smiled. Angry, hot pain shot through his body, and he winced, but that smile never once faded. “Listen, I know it ain’t normally your style, but I figured if you wanted, you could go out with a bang.” Hancock reached into his pocket and pulled out an object wrapped in dirty cloth. He unfolded it, waved a syringe in Nate’s eyes. “Made it myself,” he said. “Some deadly shit, but it’s, y’know, humane.”

“I’m listening,” Nate said.

John must not have expected that response, because it took him a moment to start speaking again. “Kills the pain,” said the ghoul mayor of Boston. “Makes you feel happy. Real euphoric-like. Also makes it feel like time’s slowin’ down a little bit. Kinda like a cross between Jet and morphine. You remember that shit, right? Morphine?”

“I remember. How long does it last?” Nate asked.

“About a minute,” John replied. “But for you, it’ll feel like an hour.”

“I’ll be alive longer than that.”

“Nah. It’s an overdose.” Nate’s heart skipped a beat in apprehension. Worry, then understanding. Finally, appreciation. “Don’t normally advocate this shit, but my man, you earned yourself a painless death. And I ain’t puttin’ a bullet in your head to give it to you. Too undignified.” Nate nodded, held out his arm. He’d done it John’s way since they met, and so far, it had brought him nothing but good times. He’d go down doing things the way he always believed in.

John tapped the needle, pressed down on the syringe to get rid of any air, and said, “Should let you know, your body will get real heavy. Don’t try talkin’ to me while you got this in you. You’ll go quicker if you do. You wanna feel this shit, man. So let me do all the talkin'. Set the mood for you.”

“How do you know?”

“Tried it myself,” John replied. “What kills you won’t kill me. But I can tell you, it’s one hell of a high.” Nate snorted, barely felt the push of a needle on the inside of his arm.

The effect was almost instantaneous. Immediately, his nerves quietened down. His body fell into a deep, steady relaxation, and his breathing stabilized. He felt his eyes close, unable to keep them open anymore. He felt the gentle, slow glide of roughly scarred fingers gripping his hand, and felt the warmth of radiation flow up his arm. He heard John’s voice, deep with a pull like the ocean, settling over him. “One day, the grass is gonna start growin’ again,” said the ghoul. “It’s gonna be real nice. Beautiful. Blue skies, and not a single radiation storm in sight. Kids can go out playin' without worrying about raiders and mutants.”

Moments like these, Nate realized exactly why John was still the mayor of Boston. Before the war, after it, and even after he’d become a Ghoul. The people loved him, and it was specifically for stuff like this. He was here, for every single person, in the way that he was there for Nate at that moment. He breathed in despair and exhaled life, and people grabbed onto it, holding on like the very essence of John Hancock was a valuable treasure. “When that happens,” the ghoul continued, “I’ll go into the vault, get your wife and kid. And I’ll show them what kind of world you helped rebuild.” Maybe it was a valuable treasure. Maybe John really was just the kind of person this place needed, and everyone around here saw it. “I’ll tell them stories about the raiders that we took on, and the people that we helped. Shaun’s gonna grow up to admire you just as much as everyone else here does. I'll take care of 'em, make sure they never know the meaning of misery. You have my word.”

Were people like John born, a mixture of empathy and complete understanding, or were they created from the ruin that they surrounded themselves with?

His body went into a peaceful chill, and darkness consumed him. “You let go now, brother. There ain’t no troubles in Heaven.”


	5. Misery Threefold

Green flashed above them. The ground shook with anticipation of the oncoming storm from the south. The group of seven stood, in plain sight, over a violently dismembered body. No blood pooled on the ground, but its limbs reacted to the radiated lightning by shooting blue sparks into the atmosphere. A flash of light, and seven became eight. The newcomer stared at them with ordinary brown eyes, the sort of sternness that came with a difficult mission. He turned, feet shoulder-width apart, and stared at the group. “You did this?”

The leader of the group, a young girl of about sixteen, stepped forward. She was slender, with a hint of muscle showing underneath dark skin. Brown boots climbed up to the middle of her calves. She wore what must have been, at one point, red and white horizontally striped pants, but have since been stripped down to shorts. They were held up by a pair of black suspenders that crawled over her bare belly and wrapped over the shoulders of an off-white cropped top. Her left arm was bare, but her right wore a star spangled elbow-length fingerless glove. She contained, on her person, the three items that she was infamous throughout the Commonwealth for: Tucked in the waistband of her shorts was a pocket-sized copy of the United States Constitution. It had seen better days, but the engravement of the title still shone bright and gold on the leather cover; she clearly cared for it passionately, and referred to it often if the wear on the spine was any indication. In both hands, she held a rifle, wrapped tightly with white, glowing Christmas lights. And covering her full head and face was an exaggerated Uncle Sam mask that leered at the newcomer like a bad omen.

This was the appropriately-named girl Sammy, the leader of the group the Absolvent. Her companions stood behind her, all wearing the armor that they’d stolen off fallen raiders that were foolish enough to try to ambush the city of Boston. All but one had a gas mask covering their faces, hiding their identities. While Sammy was indisputably human – she bled red just like her comrades – five of her followers were impossible to determine the foundation of. They could have been human, Ghoul, or synth.

But the sixth, who wore no disguise in an attempt to hide who he was, was undeniably the Super Mutant Sinatra, named so because before his transformation, he had been an exceptional singer. The FEV may have taken that from him, but it never took away his mental faculties, and he remained one of the sharpest, most ruthless parts of the group. And while Sammy could easily slip into the role of a regular person without her mask and wardrobe, good old Sinatra would always remain the one identifiable factor of where the Absolvent was. If anyone laid eyes on him, they knew to play by the rules of their little social contract with John Hancock, because if they didn’t, they would have hell to pay.

And this situation, by which was happenstance for the newcomer to arrive in, was a prime example of just what happened to those who fucked with John Hancock.

“We did,” said Sammy. “Courtesy of Hancock.” She lowered her rifle, and a look of confusion flashed across the newcomer’s features, replaced almost immediately with conviction. His hand moved toward his coat, and though the girl took notice, she did not move to counter it. Instead, a booming, thunderous sound echoed around them: Sinatra had moved, and quickly, toward the newcomer. He lifted the man up, shook him violently, ignoring the distraught cries. A violent rip sounded across the air, and not one person in that group of seven so much as flinched as two halves of a body fell to the ground. Like his fallen comrade, the man’s body sparked and hissed before falling explicably silent.

Two coursers would not return that day, and it would be a devastating loss for the Institute. With Hancock’s intervention, they had lacked the research necessary to further it. And with their alliance broken, they lacked the funds to seek research from elsewhere. That is precisely what had brought them to this – turning their backs on the shattered agreement that they’d had with the Boston mayor: Don’t fuck with the Commonwealth. It didn’t matter the reason, or the method. If it was for protection or for vengeance. The people of Boston saw no difference in either when it came to harm done against their own. It was all grounds for violent retaliation.

The Absolvent sent a message that carried throughout the Commonwealth. It wouldn’t be long now before it reached Babylon, too.

* * *

The first thing she heard when she woke up was a baby crying. Shaun’s shaking sobs reached her ears and prompted her instincts to kick in; she held him closer to her chest before she even so much as opened her eyes.

Nora still sat in her pod, but everything had changed in what felt like the past five seconds. An initial scan of the area told her that she was a woman out of time, and her assessment couldn’t be more accurate. The vault had accumulated a thick layer of dust. Her neighbors all sat in their pods, deceased and still frozen. It sent a pang of sadness through her, though she was grateful that she and her son could be the exception.

Before her, someone stood. She would have called him a man, if it weren’t for the way his skin had scarred over as if he had been the victim of a horrible full-body burn. His black eyes stared up at her from underneath a tricorn hat, expectant, waiting. A red frock coat adorned his body, one that seemed distantly familiar. She vaguely recalled seeing it on display during a visit to the Old State House in her first semester. He wore an American flag across his waist, and between the shadows and fabric of his coat and sash, she could barely make out the dark leather hilt of a knife. He held his second weapon in his hands: A sawed-off, double-barrel shotgun.

While his presence worried her at first glance, Nora gave him a closer inspection and began noticing subtle things about him that seemed comforting. Familiar. The gentle twinkle in his dark eyes, which seemed to her to be the wrong color. The upward tilt of his lips, like an imp planning mischief. The high cheekbones that must have been charming before his drastic physical transformation. She knew him, but she knew that he was not the same man. Because however long it had been since she’d arrived in the vault, since she had been frozen, was apparently enough time to change the basic foundation of whatever he was.

John McDonough was no longer a simple man living simple pleasures. He had been hardened, and the way he carried himself was the proof.

Slowly, Nora lowered herself from the pod, standing on two legs that felt like they hadn’t been used in years. They continued to stare at each other, alone now in the vault except for the baby boy between them. John lowered his weapon to the floor, slowly, as to show her that she was worth the extra effort, and he held out both hands. Ever the reluctant mother, she hesitated, then handed him the crying infant with tired arms. She didn’t need to tell him to support Shaun’s head, or that he needed to be bounced to calm down; John seemed to operate entirely on instinct. Soon, the baby’s cries softened to coos and giggles, little hands reaching up to a horribly scarred face, and John grinned back down at him, memories flooding his eyes like an ocean. He chuckled, a sad sound, and said, “Well I’ll be damned if he don’t look just like his old man.”

Nora felt a weight drop into her stomach. John looked back up at her, and the two needed to exchange no words to confirm what he’d just said. But he spoke anyway, to comfort her in obviously trying times. “I told him I’d watch out for you, sister, and I’m a man of my word.”

She held one hand to her mouth and nose, trying to hold in the nausea-inducing distress, and leaned back against her pod. Both hands came to her face, hiding her tears, muffling her sobs.

John waited patiently for her to collect herself, never once complaining about the time that passed, but it must have been at least half an hour. She knew, from the moment she stepped to the vault alone, with no one but her neighbors and Shaun, that her husband was dead. But somehow, it hurt more, knowing that he had survived the bombs and had lived in a world that had so obviously changed John, the carefree mayor of Boston.

She wiped her face on the sleeve of her jumpsuit, hiccupping once before asking, “What the hell happened to you, John?”

He laughed at that, and she realized that there were some things about him that didn’t change. He still had his humor, even when she couldn’t find it, herself. She wrapped her arms around herself, trying to hold the contents of her stomach in, trying to fight away the shock and just stay present in the moment. Coping mechanism. “It’s the radiation,” he said. “Makes men like me roguishly handsome.” She offered a weak smile, but their good energy soon shifted. He frowned at her. “You’ve been in there for two hundred years.” Her body couldn’t decide whether she was shocked or appalled at the news. Two hundred years seemed immeasurable to her, though it did make sense. With such a long amount of time, no wonder things had changed so drastically, even in her narrow scope of observation. She couldn’t imagine what the world outside looked like.

But it left one nagging question in the back of her mind: “How did you survive for two hundred years?”

“Also the radiation,” John said. “They call folks like me Ghouls. We age slower, if we age at all.” He handed Shaun back, then picked up his gun. “Now, I don’t wanna alarm you or anything, but we’re in a tight spot. I gotta get you out of here, before the bad guys catch wind and show up.”

“Bad guys?” Nora shook her head, not understanding. “What bad guys?”

“We can talk on the way,” John said. “Gotta keep that promise to Nate and keep you safe, yeah? Let’s head on out.” He began walking, but when he saw that she wasn’t following, he stopped. “Trust me, Nora. I wouldn’t do you or your husband wrong.” That was good enough for her, and she allowed him to lead her through the vault.

Corpses, both human and otherwise, littered the floors. Giant roaches, which John had already taken the liberty of killing, splattered across the walls, limbs still twitching from the fresh kill. Near the entrance, John picked up a small, portable machine and held Shaun while Nora attached it to her wrist. “That’s a Pip-Boy,” he said to her, handing the baby back. “You’re gonna want that, sister, believe me.”

Nora stood next to John on the elevator, and when they reached the surface, she saw no sunlight, but a storm that burned her skin. “Shit,” John said, grabbing Shaun from her arms. He handed Nora his gun to hold. He placed the boy on the ground, working to take off his coat as Shaun cried. Within moments, the baby was wrapped, head to toe, in red. “Should keep enough of the radiation off’a him until we reach town,” John said. “Though he might need some RadAway, bein’ a baby and all.” Once again, Nora and John exchanged weapon for child, and they began walking.

It wasn’t five minutes before they came across another figure – a bald man with an atrocious scar across his face. He held a cigar between his teeth and jerked his head up at John in greeting. He held in one hand a loose Pip-Boy, which Nora suspected did not belong to him. He pulled the cigar out and spoke: “All good?”

“All good, brother.”

The scarred man looked over Nora for a moment, then scoffed. He turned, and led the threesome down the hill. “That’s Kellogg,” John said. “Works for me.”

“What’s he do?” Nora asked.

“Spy work, for the most part,” John replied. “You up for a history lesson while we walk?” Nora nodded. “All right. It’s a hell of a ride, so strap yourself in.

“I met Nate at the jail. He saved my ass, pulled me out. Waited around with me while my leg healed up. After a while, we got this crazy idea that we could turn this place into something worth fighting for again. Redefine the American Dream, you know?” If Kellogg was listening, he gave no indication of it. He dropped his Pip-Boy, which John picked up – probably due to its value. Kellogg kept puffing at his cigar, stopping only to withdraw his gun – a mean-looking magnum – to check the chambers. “We took it back from the raiders, Super Mutants, and feral Ghouls – the ones who either went batshit insane with radiation or who were batshit insane before the world went to shit – and started a life that others like us could join in on. Eventually, we’d built up something great. It started off with one settlement. Then it went to two, three, four – now I got multiple all over Boston, one for every kind of person you can imagine.” He winked at her. “Favorite’s Goodneighbor. It’s a recent one. Ran by raiders first, then taken over by some asswipe named Vic. Cleared it out, made it a safe haven for people who don’t fit in anywhere else.”

To Nora, it seemed like that was another way of saying that Goodneighbor was the place where crime lords slummed around waiting for their next victim, but she hoped that John hadn’t changed enough to actually allow for that.

He continued: “We set up an alliance with this place called the Institute. They build synths – synthetic people, look almost human. It didn’t really fit my morals, but shit, when the world’s gone and you have nothing left, you do what you can to help the people you’re looking after. They gave us food and water, amplified our security, and we kept people out of their business, because eventually people came to learn that you just don’t fuck with John Hancock.”

“Hancock?” asked Nora, raising a brow. A harsh wind blew past them. Nora felt the storm warm up her skin, making her hair stand up on end.

“Change in times, change in attitude, change of name,” John said. “Wasn’t the same mayor anymore, so what’s the point of pretending to be a guy I wasn’t?” Nora could understand that, but it still worried her. Was this new man better or worse than what she remembered? “Either way, the alliance worked out for the both of us, mainly because of Babylon.”

“What’s Babylon?” asked Nora.

“Lady, you gonna let him finish talking, or you gonna keep asking questions?” Kellogg barked over his shoulder. Nora felt her face heat up in embarrassment. Under normal circumstances, she would have fought back, but her mind was still in a state of shock; she couldn’t think of anything to say to him. “Jesus, you’d have the answers if you’d keep listening.”

“Don’t pay attention to him,” John said. Kellogg grunted. “Babylon’s, ah … They’re like raiders, but worse. Raiders on steroids. Some people say that they’re supernatural, that they can just want for something to happens and it happens. Others say that’s a bunch of shit. I’ve been alive long enough to know that you don’t discount anything unless you get proof otherwise. Either way, they’ve been causing trouble, and the Institute made it their job to build up a stronger population to keep people like Babylon from fucking us up in another war. ‘Course, war’s inevitable. Happens when you’ve got anyone in power for any period of time. It’s human nature.” Nora knew that to be true. People have been fighting for various reasons since the beginning of mankind. It was always for resources, and it was always violent. “So me bein’ the smart man I am started preparing for it. Training my people to fight back if they ever got pushed around. Institute didn’t like that, so they called off the alliance. They just liked us relying on them. Didn’t want us to be self-sufficient.

“Thing about alliances is, is when you call ‘em off, you face repercussions no matter what side you’re on. Institute started invading my territory to get a slice of the pie they missed out on, and I fought back. Started up a little gang of Commonwealth rebels called Absolvent. Kellogg used to run the thing before I sent him off to work as a spy in the Institute. Now I got Sammy running the show.”

He paused, waiting for Nora to ask the obvious question. She was grateful for his patience. “Who’s Sammy?” she asked.

“My kid,” John replied, and the news shocked Nora. “Adopted her when she was less than a year old. Her parents were taken by the Institute, so I took her in. Raised her to fight for the people.” So she wasn’t his blood daughter, but hearing that John had a family still brought him into a new light. She recalled him laughing at journalists who had asked if he ever wanted to get married and settle down. “Anyway, apparently the Institute just now realized that without me at their side, they couldn’t fund their shit anymore, so they started getting sleazy with it. Kellogg came to me a few nights ago, sayin’ they sent him on a mission to get your kid so that they could build a new generation of synths, which are supposed to be real life-like.”

None of this sat well with Nora. She looked back between Kellogg and John, trying to fit the pieces together, but no matter how much she tried to force it, it wouldn’t form a cohesive picture. “I don’t understand,” she said at last. “Why Shaun? And why didn’t Kellogg just go through with it?”

Kellogg laughed at that – a deep, rumbling sound. “Well, shit,” he said, “she called me out less than an hour of knowing me. You’re right, lady, I don’t have many morals, and if I do, they’re all about payment.”

“They needed someone who hadn’t been through extensive amounts of radiation to complete their research. Since rads are basically handed down genetically now, that’s impossible to find with any newborn here in the Commonwealth, so they turned to the vault. And with the Brotherhood of Steel hard up the Institute’s ass, they didn’t have the funds to keep a guy like Kellogg loyal,” John explained, and though Nora didn’t know what the Brotherhood of Steel was, she figured she would find out relatively soon. “I did. ‘Sides, he knows that the moment he crosses me, his ass is grass.”

“Won’t the Institute be after him?” asked Nora.

“Sure,” John replied with a casual shrug. “But then they’d have three problems.”

“What are they?” asked Nora.

“Me, Sammy, and Kellogg. And Lord help the poor bastard that faces misery threefold.”


End file.
